


all lives end, all hearts are broken.

by thatbluebox



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Character Death, F/M, Ghost!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 07:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6695617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatbluebox/pseuds/thatbluebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With unwavering certainty, Grant Ward realizes he is taking his last breath.  // ghost!au</p>
            </blockquote>





	all lives end, all hearts are broken.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, hello! long story short, i've had this ghost!au mostly written since christmas, but haven't posted it for reasons. hence why you'll see it's not complacent with canon, other than the little tidbits we got in the 3a finale. but i mean, aren't we all here for aus and non-complacent skyeward? the story itself starts on the planet maveth. 
> 
> this is sort of an on the fly decision to post, but i hope those who were asking for it enjoy it all the same. x

 

 

Maybe he deserves it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He isn’t - _wasn’t_ \- a good man after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But he was only a man, and even in death, can only endure so much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bright light does not exist.

 

 

 

 

Grant stares up at the fathomless blue sky overhead, noting the gathering darkness at the corner of his vision. It blurs and distorts the figure above him, distracting him from the increasing pressure on his chest. Dreamily he registers the pressure swell, and his mouth involuntarily opens in a silent gasp.

 

 

 

With unwavering certainty, Grant Ward realizes he is taking his last breath.

 

 

 

_I'm afraid._

 

 

 

The confession aches in his lungs.

 

 

 

 

Above him, eyes blink into existence in the blue dusk, twinkling down like miniature stars. As if emerging from a mirage, a face comes into focus. A soundless wind carries over her as she leans down, her hair catching across her face as she speaks. And while he admits it can't be, that it will never be, he knows the essence of the woman who kneels over him.

 

 

 

 

"It's okay," Skye's voice is soft, and he feels her touch on his cheek. "I understand."

 

 

 

 

He wonders why he is so lucky to die with such a lie.

 

 

 

 

 

_Please, don’t leave me._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The darkness swallows her along with the blue sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death is an explicable thing.

 

 

There is no time, distance or space; just endless shadow. Gone is sensation or feeling, replaced only by chilled recognition.

 

 

 

Darkness.

 

 

 

That’s all he remembers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It takes him a while to register where he is.

 

 

As the world emerges from darkness, he startles at the unfamiliar change of environment. Black gives way to watery light, streaming downwards to pool at his feet. Before him, dust motes dance in the air, illuminated by the weak glow of dawn. But something is wrong, a part of him protests. Something that he does not want to acknowledge just yet. Instead his mind slowly attempts to feed him the correct words: room, window, curtains, _sunlight…_

  

 

Something shifts in his line of vision, and it’s the first time _since_ that his thoughts clear.

 

  

Skye stares at nothing as she sits with her legs tucked underneath her, her fingers pulling at the bottom of her sleeves. He stands so close that he can see the shadows under her eyes, and the way her fingers fidget restlessly. Her hair, now cut short around her face in choppy waves, makes her seem older. Harder. It's difficult to reconcile the image of the girl from the van with the woman beside him, before he —

 

 

His chest tightens reflexively as he stumbles away from her. There is a roaring sound in his ears, and he blinks back sand, stars and the hands of death.

 

 

Grant lets out a straggling breath - one he no longer needs - before he drops to his knees.

 

 

 

  

 

Skye does nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As fate would have it, his soul cannot move on.

 

Grant Ward is cursed to haunt the living, unheard and unseen.

 

Or one person in particular. 

 

 

He tries to leave several times, challenging some unknown force that keeps him close. Ghosts can slip between the cracks of the universe, and he uses his newfound abilities to his advantage. He travels continents and oceans, skirts the edges of the netherworlds and unknown darkness in a mindless walk. Still, whenever he feels the familiar tug in his abdomen, it isn't long before he falls back into her orbit. No matter how hard he tries, she remains a begrudging constant.

 

Grant Ward turns a blind eye as best as he can, hovering at the edges in a grateful haze. For whenever he looks at her the aching in his lungs return, a dry, rasping noise rattling in his chest.

 

 

  

_ Blue, sand, stars — _

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes frustration gives way to anger, and all around him the Playground reacts in tandem. Doors slam, lights flicker and a mysterious wind whistles through the empty corridors at night. Agents become weary of darkened hallways and the chill that seeps from the vaults.

 

 

If aliens are real, why can't ghosts?

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Grant’s illusions of grandeur, morality and leadership fade behind the absolute truth of circumstance. The word closure is meaningless; a ghost is not given the luxury of absolution. _It was always meaningless,_ Grant admits to himself absently. The permanent red that stains his knuckles attest to that.

  

_What a waste._

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s changed her name.

 

 

Daisy.

 

 

It catches his ear soon enough, and despite himself, it makes him pause. For the first time in a while, he lets the haze in his mind clear and feels something other than empty frustration or anger.

 

_Regret,_ he admits, _he regrets not knowing._

 

 

 

 

He lets himself catch more things: her punches are hard when she trains; she sleeps poorly, and disguises her anxiety by several cups of coffee; she shrugs off her injuries; her laptop, her once most valuable asset, lies unused for days at a time. Instead she bites her lip and stares at the gaudy leather suit that lays over her only chair.

 

Grant can see it plainly: she doubles survivors guilt and duty.

  

Daisy, Daisy, _Daisy —_

 

He rolls over her new name on his tongue. Says it out loud as she walks by him. But no matter how many times he repeats it, the name never holds the fire or spirit of the girl he knew.

 

 

  

One morning he slips himself into a nearby armchair, watching as she appears with a coffee cup in her hand, her briefing notes in the other. The woman before him is so different now, the ravages of life as an agent already showing its effects. Perhaps for a brief moment he can reconcile that Skye is gone, replaced by the woman in front of him. Maybe it would be easier, in some small way.

 

She chooses that moment to look up, her eyesight brushing his shoulder as a lock of brown hair crosses her cheek. Her expression twists sourly, and Grant can pin point her exact thoughts as she pushes out her bottom lip in concentration. He freezes, feeling the remnants of his memories respond.

 

  

_Skye._

 

 

 

His chest tightens.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grant is grateful for the fog.

 

 

 

He never truly loses the shadows that accompanies death. Its heavy presence settles on his chest, and unfurls at his feet. It’s a disorienting experience, but it’s a small mercy in times such as these: Simmons at the door; May's authoritative voice at his shoulder; the smell of oil and fuel of the new aircraft; Skye crying at her bunk; Fitz alone in the lab, mumbling to himself; the passing of agents whose quest for revenge still hangs heavy over them; the long stretch of hallway outside of the vault, and the door in which he spent so many months behind.

  

 

A blonde that follows Skye around.

 

Grant decides he rather dislikes him.

 

 

He's grateful for it when he sees Booth's face on the screen, as Ward's past endeavours lay forgotten in the face of a new era. When Kara’s face is discarded among a list of traitors, her name pooled with his own misdeeds.

 

But nothing compares to the sight of the Shield Director. Coulson’s voice, self righteous as ever, as he places a hand at the small of her back. Grant’s hands twitch, anger burning with the sight of blue skies and suffocating silence. He lets the mist curl around him so he doesn't have to see or hear.

 

 

 

He is rewarded to see Skye's skepticism.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skye isn’t moving.

 

She’s pinned under the debris of an explosion, smoke curling around the ruins in wisps. Her foe - an unwieldy inhuman blinded by rage - stands mere feet away. He watches her triumphantly, and a sickly glint in his eyes tells Ward that this man will not stop until she is dead before him.

 

  

_She’s dying._

 

 

The realization makes the world shift on its axis, and flashes of a desolate landscape disrupt his vision. For a moment he's blinded, feeling the pressure on his chest flare, seeing a swath of stars before he looks down. Grant takes a step back, reality coming back to him as he blinks away the memory.

 

  

His ghostly hands are emerged deep into the cement block, useless and powerless. The block is solid, and he is not.

 

 

A wave of nausea crashes over him as he understands: _he can’t help her._

 

 

  

“Ward?”

 

 

 

_He can't let her die._

 

 

 

_"Ward?"_

 

  

It takes him a moment to register what he's hearing, that it's not a hallucination or trick of hearing. Someone is speaking his name, and that someone is her.

 

 

He looks down to see Skye staring up at him with wide eyes. He can't help it: he looks behind him, searching for another figure. He sees nothing but sky above him and the smoke of the ruination. It's him, she's looking directly at him.

  

Grant turns back to her, and watches her eyes grow wider.

 

He opens his mouth, but finds he can’t speak.

 

A rumble echoes across the plot, and Skye lets out a scream as the cement block shifts downwards. He's back - the inhuman from before - and this time he plans to finish it. But as Grant twists around, he sees more figures emerge from the ashes. Shield agents.

  

Suddenly a crew surrounds them dressed in full tac gear. One walks right through him, making Grant shiver as he jerks backwards. Everything blurs then, his mind’s fog overlapping the bodies as an unconscious Skye is extracted and pulled to safety.

 

 

_"Skye -"_

 

 

 

His voice is hoarse.

 

  

She saw him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When she wakes up, it’s as if nothing has changed. 

 

She doesn't eye him from where she sits, and pays no attention to the corner in which he stands. Skye gives no indication she senses his presence, and Grant knows he’s left unseen and unheard once again.

 

Her words come flooding back to him, loud and clear: _Hoping for something and losing it hurts worse than never hoping for anything._

 

 

 

 

It's not until four days later, when Skye is giving her report that Grant feels the weight lift.

 

She pulls aside one of the extraction team members, her voice low as she steadily regards him. "When you rescued me, was there - was there anyone else?"

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Sometimes, just sometimes, he catches her.

 

A pause at the door, a frown creasing her temple. 

 

It’s never enough, but it’s there: the fragile belief there may be more out there.

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“Hydra is moving,” The Shield agent tells the group, and beside him, Grant feels Skye shift uneasily. “We have reports saying that they’re mobilizing again, this time with greater manpower.”

 

“Where are they now?” Skye questions, picking up her briefing notes. Grant can see schematics and numbers, coordinates and longhand notes attached. The HYDRA logo stares up at him as he watches over her shoulder, and he instinctively pulls away from it’s image. 

 

“We’re not sure - they keep evading us. However, we have reports of activity in both Argentina and Lithuania.” The agent looks down at their notes, before addressing her again. “I believe you’re on the first team out to Lithuania, Agent Johnson, and are to be sent ahead on a scouting mission.”

 

 

She covers her emotions well, but there is little you can hide from a ghost.

 

 

“When do I leave?”

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

Grant can't believe what he's seeing.

  

Across an empty parking lot stands Grant Ward, a long dark coat twisting around him in the winter wind. The moonlight distorts his face in shadow, but in the silvery light there is no mistaking him. Dressed entirely in black, Grant can see the lines of dark stubble running up his own jaw, and notices the familiar contours of his body. But this isn't him, can't be him; he can feel the unearthly presence from where he stands, even as a ghost.

 

Beside him Skye inhales sharply.

 

Grant watches as something pulsates over his former skin, running downwards across his forehead. Nausea grips him, while he fights the overall feeling of _wrongness_ that emulates from the figure across from him. 

 

 

_No, no no no._

 

 

"Ward - ?" She whispers.

 

 

_No -_

 

 

 

All at once their world is thrown into chaos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Red soaks through Skye’s suit in the dim light, smearing blood across the icy pavement. The creature’s last blow keeps her down, and her hands tremble as she reaches out to push herself up again. Skye hisses sharply and falls forward, the wound in her side visible through the jagged rip in her black leather. She doesn't see the other man's - the creature's - approach from behind.

 

Instinctively Grant positions himself between the creature and Skye, already knowing the outcome. He stares down himself as it approaches, fury and frustration washing over him in cold waves. With a gasp, Grant doubles over as his likeness passes through him, feeling as if the wind has been knocked out of him. Pain flares in his left shoulder — he’s wounded — 

 

_Wait._

 

It’s not him, but the creature. 

 

“This could have been so much easier if you had just surrendered.” The creature tells her with a sardonic smile. Below him, Skye looks up with a venomous glare, and spits blood. 

 

It laughs. “Oh, but I like this,” It says conversationally, bending down to her level. “I’ve heard all about you, the poor orphan girl who one day turned _super_.” It tilts it’s face, studying her, before its expression falls. Cold and ancient eyes stare down at her. “You mistake your heritage, girl. What you are is not a gift or a legacy, but a promise, a promise that was made to me by your ancestors long ago. _And you are to keep it.”_

 

 

Skye grits her teeth together, fingers curling together into a tight fist. It continues to watch her, waiting for a submission. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What did you do to him.” 

 

It’s not the answer it wants. 

 

The creature stares unblinkingly back at her, as its expression perceptively darkens. Something shifts in the air, a dangerous undercurrent of power settling between them. 

 

Suddenly it sighs, breaking the silence as it rocks back on its heels and straightens. “What did _I_ do to him?” It repeats, “Why I’m afraid he was nearly dead by the time I got to him, my dear. I’m sure your familiar with the outcome.” 

 

_He can’t hear this._

 

“You’re - _you’re possessing him_ — ”

 

“Is that anger I hear?” It muses. “Perhaps I have mistaken your feelings. Your last words to him were rather threatening - unless you’ve forgotten?” 

 

Skye’s expression tells all. 

 

“So he’s dead.” 

 

“Mmm,” The creature agrees offhandedly. It stares off into the darkness, ignoring her attempt to push herself up. “Question is, what to do with you now.” 

 

Something flashes brightly in the moonlight, disappearing into the creatures palm.

 

 

_He needs to get her attention._

 

 

_“Skye!"_ Grant shouts, and Skye whips her head backwards at his voice. Her jaw drops as she freezes, a mix of horror and incredibility staring back at him. Something electric runs through him as their eyes meet, and Grant feels a thousand things flood through him in rapid succession. He feels his chest constrict, but his eyes never leaving hers as he shouts again. _“Aim for his left shoulder!“_

 

Skye’s still staring at him with that look of mixed incredibility, but after a moment his words finally register. 

 

“I’m afraid that sort of trick won’t work on me,” The creature informs her, mistaking her look as effort to fool him. She blinks back up at the creature, her eyes trailing down to it’s shoulder. 

 

 

In the next moment she splays her hands, directing her last bits of energy at his covered wound. The creature stumbles backwards, stunned, making a noise of surprise. Skye scrambles up as it recovers, and another pulse rocks between them. A splitting crack fills the air as a fissure erupts in the pavement, stretching the parking lot’s distance and forming a gap between them.

 

 

Skye wobbles backwards, and Grant instinctively reaches out to catch her. She neatly falls through his embrace, and she squeaks in surprise as she watches his arms pass harmlessly through her.

 

 

 

“You — ” 

 

 

“Skye, you’re bleeding —“ His voice is unsteady, a slight buzzing in his head as he looks down at her. The overwhelming realization of being _seen -_ of being _heard -_ is intoxicating as it is disorienting. Conflicting emotions of relief, worry, anger and something else, something light and electric, seizes him momentarily. 

 

_She’s alive._

 

 

 

He almost feels like it too. 

 

 

 

“You just vanished, and - and then reappeared _—_ Ward — ”

 

 

 

It takes him a moment to realize she can’t hear his words. 

 

 

 

“You think that is going to stop me?” Skye and Ward look up to see the creature’s face - Ward’s face - appraise Skye darkly. Blood drips from the tips of it’s fingers, running downwards from it’s wounded shoulder. It lets out a laugh, one that causes Skye to shiver beside him.

 

 

 

It rolls its shoulder. “I don’t believe we’re finished.”

 

 

_Enough,_ Grant thinks, as the resolute anger floods back. 

 

A second later, wind rips through the decimated parking lot, howling through the surrounding trees. A heavy, dark mist seeps upwards from the pavement, twisting and curling around them until a dense fog blinds them. Suddenly the air is oblique, and Grant can hear the creature snarl in frustration.

 

 

 

After a moment, Grant realizes it’s him. He’s done this.

 

 

 

“You can’t hide,” It’s voice calls across the lot, but Skye and Ward are already gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skye is nearly unconscious, stumbling in front of him in haze. It takes him a moment to realize she’s crying - muffled noises obscured by her wet cough. 

 

 

He moves closer, instinctively reaching out — only to have his hand pass through her. 

 

She gasps and stumbles away from him, and Skye trips, sprawling forward. A sob narrowly escapes her as she hits the ground, and she hisses from the pain. She’s still for a moment, exhaling slowly before she ducks her head between her arms. Dirt catches under her fingernails as she rolls forward on her palms, pulling out grass from their roots in clenched fists. She’s shaking, and the frosted grass below her shifts from her rolling tremors.

 

 

 

 

Skye won’t look at him.

 

 

He hesitates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finally she looks up through watery lashes, a smear of red sporting her cheek. Her gaze is un nerving, and something deflates within him, the euphoria he felt before vanishing in a wisp. 

 

 

 

_What does she see?_

 

 

 

But he sees it clearly in her eyes.

 

 

 

 

Blue, sand, stars — _death._

 

 

 

 

 

 

Suddenly the darkness is there, pressing in on him, stiflingly reality. He lets it, seeing a hazy blue skye spread out behind her, and the return of the constant ache in his lungs. He ignores the fact that for those several minutes, he hadn’t felt it at all. 

 

Behind her a bright light illuminates her, and she shrinks from it.

 

Shield arrives, and Grant falls back into the shadows. 

 

* 

 

 

*


End file.
